


The Storm Ends

by KestrelShrike



Series: Abelas/Lavellan [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Blood, Gen, Gore, dragon slaying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-18
Updated: 2015-03-18
Packaged: 2018-03-18 12:49:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3570275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KestrelShrike/pseuds/KestrelShrike
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The second part (of three), in a longer series. The first part is 'Lightning'. One more part coming, I swear!</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Storm Ends

The tautness of the bow string echoed through her back as Shiral watched the dragon circle through the sky, looking for a place to land. Everyone had their weapons drawn now, waiting for the first move. She could fire an arrow, but it would only enrage the beast. No vulnerable spots were staying in focus long enough to get a good shot, and she didn’t have an infinite supply of arrows. She had as many as a large quiver could hold, as many as she could physically withstand on her back, but no more than that. Half of them would probably bounce off the hard scales of the animal, so they could be collected again, but that wasn’t anything she could count on. 

The ground shuddered as the Vinsomer landed. The sheer scale of the animal was mind boggling. From the air it had appeared almost manageable, but here it stood, a scant hundred feet away, and it was truly a monster. It’s head was plated, the horns that descended from either side easily twice as tall as Shiral, taller even than Iron Bull. The Vinsomer’s physicality was intimidating. It could eat them all in one gulp, if it so wished. There wasn’t any fat on it- the body was all muscle, ending in wicked talons and a tail that could launch them all skyward. The lightning that danced along its body was equally disconcerting. 

“Go, now! While it’s on the ground!” Shiral loosed her first arrow and raised her fist, watching it spiral and arc toward the dragon, striking true in a soft spot that existed where the wing joined the body. No one needed any more encouragement. Bull ran in with his war hammer, Cassandra with her sword and shield, their ululations piercing the air. With great deliberation, Abelas followed them, a sword held in each hand, golden as his armor, as his eyes. Was it her imagination, or was there something more to the swords, a shimmering quality in the air that hinted of magic? There was no time to stop and ask, to take a closer look. The battle had begun. 

The arrow didn’t seem to harm the dragon as it much as it seemed to make it angrier. A bulge traveled through the slender neck, visible to the naked eye, and the Vinsomer opened its mouth. 

There are those who claim that time slows down when they’re in danger, as if they could see everything perfectly crystallized. That was not Shiral’s experience. One minute the dragon was sitting still, and the next there was a patch of sizzling ground inches from her boots. Storm sparks flew from it, causing her to stumble back. “Ware! It breathes lightning.” Cassandra especially was at a greater mix. The amount of metal she wore would just conduct everything the Vinsomer breathed out. Her armor could cook her alive. Her shield could send a shock to stop her heart. Abelas’ position was not better. She wasn’t sure what metal his armor and blades were made of, but she had to operate under the assumption that it was conducive. 

The dragon turned around to face Bull, taking a swipe at him with one foreleg. Shiral aimed for the inside of the back legs, hoping those areas would be less heavily armored. There was no more of the sparking yet. Good. Perhaps the dragon had to recharge. She would take any refraction period offered. 

Iron Bull swung his hammer against the Vinsomer’s front leg, hitting it heavily. Bull’s enormous strength was an equally enormous asset. Even through the thick scales, the dragon felt that. 

With a downward beat of its narrow wings, the dragon took to the sky again. It stayed low, flying over their heads fast enough that the breeze made them all stagger. The lightning ran along its throat again, as it turned its head to regard Shiral once again. The other three had to stay close to attack. Their small, tight grouping made them more intimidating. Stuck on her own, she stood out, a pale, fleshy creature that could so easily be roasted by a well timed bolt. 

Some abstract corner of Shiral’s mind marveled at the beauty of the Vinsomer, the way the yellow on its chest and head stood out against the blue banding. Another, more conscious part of her brain screamed at her to move, to run, but there was something oddly mesmerizing about watching the dragon come closer and closer, seeing the lightning move up its throat to come out the mouth. She moved sluggishly, her feet dragging. Was this part of the dragon’s powers, or was she just being an idiot? She should have been too seasoned to stop in a battle like this. She should have been better than this. 

Something plowed into her side, knocking her a few feet to the left. Whatever it was moved with her. Hitting the ground hurt, but it hurt far less than the patch of lightning would have. The earth was scorched where she had been lying. 

“Abelas.” He looked at her and shook his head, before returning to the tight group of warriors. How had he moved so quickly? Her face burned in shame as she took another arrow from her quiver and loosed it, watching it ping off the dragon harmlessly and fall to the earth. She ran to collect it, noting that the tip was slightly blunted. It was useless to her now. 

The next few minutes were a blur. The dragon came to the ground again. There was the sound of steel hitting its scales. Shiral loosed half her arrows. Some of them stuck in the Vinsomer’s flesh, but many did not. She couldn’t risk going to see if they were still usable. A certain distance had to be maintained for safety’s sake. She longed to be up front, to take the same risk the others did, but arrows needed their distance, to gather velocity to punch through muscle and stick. 

The Vinsomer began to take to wing again. Its downbeats created an enormous amount of suction that Shiral fought against, digging her feet into the damp earth, letting the mud anchor her in place. The others fared worse. They were too close. First Cassandra fell over, then Abelas. Only Bull stood, and barely at that. Her distance was an advantage that, as she loosed another arrow. She had been aiming for the wings again, where the skin was thinner, but the wind disrupted it. It was a freak chance, one in a thousand. Instead of going toward the wings, the arrow was buffeted outward with a sweep of the dragons wings, and it struck its eye, hung there, triumphant.  
Blood and the whites of the dragon’s eyes slowly dribbled down its face. Only a thin strand connected the eye to where it had once lain so securely. Even from here, Shiral could see the dragon bled from hundreds of cuts. Its movements were more frantic now. It knew it only had so much strength left, and it was determined to take at least one of them with it into death. Shiral was the one who had shot the arrow that had taken away half its vision. The Visnomer focused on her once again, but her friends were there, waiting. 

Cassandra banged her sword on her shield. The clamor startled the dragon who turned to her with a hiss, a weak purple lightning forming along its neck one final time. Thus distracted, Iron Bull swung his war hammer into an already injured leg, clearly shattering the bone. Abelas leapt forward, his movements again impossible. Both swords shot out, their movement a golden blur, cutting neatly through the Visnomer’s neck. It didn’t even make a noise as it fell to the earth. There should have been a moment of celebration, but they all just stopped to collect their breath, to have a moment of quiet.


End file.
